I'm already in hell
by TheAnonymousBard
Summary: We begin the tale of Mikhail deep into the rusted tunnels of Moscow. Join me by the fire and I will tell you a tale of revenge, fear, and darkness. Next chapter will be up soon.
1. Prologue

This is my first installment or prologue of my first series of works, The Story of Mikhail Zukov. Keep in mind this is my first story so please feel free to send me any feedback. Thanks!

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><p>My name is Mikhail Zukov. I was only 11 years old when the disaster happened. I remember the panic... the screams... and the television. New York, Tokyo, Buenos Aires, all booming as headlines. I remember my Mother... taking me away from the TV leaving my Father to watch the horrors alone. To this day I do not remember what the cause was... only what it caused.<p>

During my early years of living in the Metro people still had hope of someday returning to the surface and... starting anew. Now... *hmpf*... now "hope" is considered a joke. I later grew to be a full- fledged Stalker with the job of scavenging and transporting supplies between stations.

Although, despite my many triumphs I had frequently thought about pulling the trigger at my head and going to live in heaven with God. But if there was even a God he would have saved us all and stopped the world from going to shit. So maybe it would have been better if I went to hell if I pulled that trigger. But then I told myself, "I'm already in hell."

My name is Mikhail Zukov and this is my story.


	2. Chapter 1

The station where I lived most of the time was named Komsomolskaya; it was the closest thing to a home I had. Everyone knew me and I knew them. My Mother was killed in a mutant attack one day, leaving me only with my Father; all we had was each other after that. In my late teens I was trained by my station guard Captain, Dmitri, how to shoot and defend myself. Dmitri was once a Spetsnaz soldier so he made every drop of sweat count and made it a challenge to earn it.

When Dmitri saw it fit for me to be sent into the dark abyssal tunnels he gave his old Kalash assault rifle to me and assigned me as one of the station's protectors and Stalkers. One day I was returning from a journey to Polis where I had political and social matters to attend to. I was glad to smell the familiar scents of gunpowder, onions, and dirt of Komsomolskaya and was glad to be there. That is where our story begins.

"Mikhail! I know those strong steps anywhere," cried out Andrei who was a young guard full of youth and dreams like a young pup.

I continued to walk along the old, all-knowing tracks nonchalantly toward Komsomolskaya's guarded entrance. I could already savor the tenderness and the spiced aroma of the roasted pork waiting for me.

"How was Polis? You suck up to those pompous Rangers yet," remarked Andrei with a small chuckle.

"You know I would never do that Andrei, those sleeze bags take more shots of vodka than taking real shots at Dark Ones."

Andrei laughs, "You surely haven't lost your sense of humor, Mikhail. Come on in, your Father and Dmitri will be glad to see you."

I walked up to the entrance guard post where Andrei was at his duty of manning the old machine gun, which would overheat or jam during almost every attack due to the Metro gunsmiths lack of skill. The guard post was lit by a feeble lamp, which only partially brightened the area. There was a rotting, moth eaten table and chair that was covered over by a dirty, prewar beach tent. The table was littered with empty rifle and machine gun rounds along with ammo boxes full of fresh rounds and cartridges.

The Komsomolskaya tunnel entrance gate was merely a rusted chain linked fence covered with sheets of metal. The gate was a sliding sheet covered fence with at least a dozen locks on the inside. In the gate there was a small, crudely shaped, hole that was covered over with barbed wire where the gate guards could see through.

I stepped towards the gate as Andrei cried out, "Grigori! Open the gate would ya! Mikhail has returned!"

A muffled answer then came from beyond the sealed gate, "Mikhail! Can't be! He hasn't been mauled by a mutant or killed by bandits yet? Alright, I guess I can let him in. Just as long as he's scavenged some more vodka and hashish for us to enjoy."

Grigori laughed in amusement at his own joke.

The gate then let out a series of metallic clangs as each lock was slowly undone.

Komsomolskaya was just as I had remembered it. Children rushed around causing mischief, Mothers tended to new born babies or mended clothing, the men gathered around the fire smoking hashish and speaking of rumors and tales spread throughout the Metro.

I was just soaking in all the old remembrances of home when a booming voice called out to me, "Mikhail oh, Mikhail I trained you well!"

I searched for the location of the voice when I caught sight of the speaker, it was Dmitri, my old friend and mentor. Dmitri was a bulky, muscular man with an air of authority and leadership about him. Probably one of the best men I have ever had the honor to know.

"What is this…. your 13th run into the tunnels alone? I'm starting to think your going to surpass my skills, Mikhail."

"I could never surpass you, Dmitri," I replied, "I let a Dark One take a hit at me during my journey, it was merely a scratch but still it was shameful of me to have let it happen. Right after it attacked me I unleashed at least 10 bullets into its ugly damn face!"

Dmitri chuckled, "So how was Polis? Any news?"

I waved my hand in dismissal, "Polis is the same as it's always been. Drunken Rangers, so called "politicians" who act like they give a crap about the rest of the Metro's needs. You know…. Same old."

Dmitri then guffaws with laughter and claps me on the shoulder, "Come, Mikhail. I'll take you to your Father. Also, remember that young girl? Oh what's her name….. Oh yes! Vera! She was asking an awful lot about you, always asking where you are, what your doing, when your com—"

Dmitri was cut off by a guard, rushing into the area. The guard shouted out, "Dmitri! There has been an attack on the tunnel guard post! Come quick!"

Dmitri snatched up his homemade triple barreled shotgun and motioned for me to follow along with him. I grabbed my Kalash assault rifle and darted along side Dmitri.

As we neared the entrance gate Grigori was seen sitting at his post with his hands covering his face. Faint moans and sobs could be heard echoing throughout the tunnel. The gate was widely opened with at least three gray, bloodsoaked mutant corpses littered at the entrance. Dmitri and I kicked aside the corpses as we went through the gate. The guard post was demolished; sand bags torn apart, and even the table flipped over.

I felt an eerie chill go down my spine as I thought, "Dark Ones aren't that stupid to attack a post guarded by only one man."

Dmitri said as if reading my mind, "They must be desperate…. Poor bastards. Starving perhaps? Can't fill that ever-lasting hunger of theirs?"

I was scanning the area when I found a dark red streak of blood stretching to a dark, ominous corner. I followed the streak all the way to that dismal corner and found an undistinguishable figure lying there against the wall. I fumbled for my match box and struck a match to light my view. The figures stomach was gorged through as if by an animal with his guts and bowels hanging out. The man was obviously dead but his face was stricken with a terrible look of fear it made it seem he was still alive. I was then struck with a wave fear and anger as I realized who that man was. It was Andrei, the young, naïve and cheerful man that had greeted upon my arrival to Komsomolskaya.


	3. Chapter 2

An abyssal, pitch-black tunnel stretched out before me. I was running down the metal tracks for a reason I did not know. My lungs then gave in to the poor dusty air so I stopped to catch my breath. I looked around, myself, trying to gain my bearings, but my headlamp only lit a mere 3 feet of my vision. Darkness. Darkness that you could almost touch. Darkness that you could almost taste and just stick into a jar. Darkness is what surrounded me.

"Mikhail!" a voice said that croaked and felt like it was almost forced.

"Mikhail!" the voice echoed, "…hail…hail…il…il."

I felt a cold chill go down my spine that made me shiver all of over.

Then, with all my might, I tried to sound as commanding as possible and yelled, "Who's there!"

Not waiting for an answer I immediately sprinted not knowing if I had just come that way. After running many meters I stopped and looked behind my back, hoping to spot the speaker.

"Mikhail," said the voice softly.

This time the voice was right behind me for I could feel it's ominous breathing going down my back.

I turned my head, and with as much courage as I could muster, I opened my eyes. A scarred, bloody man stood before me. His eyes were bloodshot, his arms were crooked, but at his belly….. his entrails hung out with fresh blood dripping from his stomach. As I stared I could hear the soft drip… drip of blood falling to the metal tracks.

"Andrei?" I said, as I realized who this bloodied figure was.

Then, suddenly, I woke. My eyes were hazy and blurry as I adjusted to the new light of my tent.

It took me a few seconds to remember who and where I was but then I said with a sigh, "Komsomolskaya."

"A dream", I thought, "Just a simple nightmare."

I then lazily sat up on my cot. The previous night I had not had a chance to look around my tent. An old dresser, that was obviously brought down from the surface, by a Stalker, was proportioned at the opposite side of the tent. On the dresser sat a polished, unwrinkled sheet of aluminum foil, which served as a mirror, and an old picture of my Mother who was standing in front of the Kremlin with a baby in her arms. That baby was, me.

Aside from the dresser there was nothing else in the old tent. As I proceeded to stick my boots back on all I could think of was the young guard, Andrei. To me his death was a gaping black hole in my heart. But to Dmitri and all the other guards Andrei's death was just another to add to the long list of the stations casualties. But still, I could not seem to get that face terror that Andrei had in death, off of my mind.

As I walked over to the dresser, to get some sausage that I recently bought for breakfast, I caught sight of myself in the mirror. At first I didn't know who that man was! A scruffy, shaggy haired man was shown before me. His eyes were sunken and tired which made it seem a certain hope was lost within that man. But if you looked hard enough you could find a small glimmer of joy, happiness and hope in those eyes.

Once I had retrieved my bag of sausages I mechanically snatched up my Kalash rifle, which was sitting next to my cot. Over many days of traveling with that Kalash I grew a certain bond with it. It was the most expensive object of value I had and it was also my only protection from the mutants in the tunnels thus I never took my eyes off of it.

Once I had gathered all my possessions, I lifted the flap of my tent and sauntered over to, what we called, the "great dome". The great dome, built before the disaster, was one of the few things that made my home station famous. It resembled a dome that was supported by columns. But the ceiling! The ceiling is what made it breathtaking! The ceiling was lit by big chandeliers, which we had managed to fix after the disaster, and was decorated with eight beautiful mosaics. Each mosaic depicted a great event in Russian history. For example, one of the mosaics showed a Victory Parade with Soviet soldiers throwing captured Nazi banners in front of Lenin's mausoleum.

As I entered the great dome I saw that nothing had changed since I'd left. All the mosaics were intact and the Hanseatic League banners still hung from the walls. The Hanseatic League, also called the Hansa or "the Ring" for short, was a group of trading stations that were all situated on the Koltsevaya line of the Moscow metro, which resembled a ring.

Komsomolskaya had joined the Hanseatic league for two main reasons. First, it would have been good for our merchants and second, we feared the Reds who were our neighbors. If we joined the Hansa, we would have protection from the skinheads and would have all the military grade ammo that money could buy.

After staring at the wondrous mosaics, I walked over to the huge bonfire that was set in the middle of the great dome. The bonfire was mainly occupied by old men, who were telling old tales to little children. Once I had found an open bench, I chewed on some of my sausages and listened to one of the stories an old man spoke of. He was haunting the children about the Station Park Pobedy and the stories of children disappearing there without a trace. I soon grew bored and listened to another story. Many old men were talking about a station, called VDNKh or Exhibition for short, was being attacked by mysterious mutants called the Dark Ones.

It was said that the Dark Ones had Telekinetic powers, which enabled them to "rip your mind in to". When I had just started to get very interested in that piece of gossip, my thoughts were interrupted by a guard, who had shouted my name.

"Mikhail!" the guard shouted, "Pyotr Aleksandrov wishes to speak with you."

I sighed, "Alright. I'll be with him in just a moment."

Pyotr Aleksandrov was our station's prime minister and was as skeptical and studious as all prime ministers should be. Pyotr rarely called for me so I knew it had to be important. And with that I set off to the prime minister's office.

As I entered the office, Pyotr looked more disturbed than usual. His facial lines of old age wrinkled up more as he pondered to himself. Pyotr took no notice of me as he took more sips of vodka and brooded. I finally had make a polite "ahem" before he took notice of me.

"Ah!" Pyotr remarked, "It's you Mikhail! I have called you to me on an important matter. A matter that requires your service."

"And what would that be, sir?" I asked.

Pyotr took a deep breath before answering.

"The Reds have been pillaging merchants who come to our station," he answered, "This, Mikhail, deeply angers me. Robbery is an act of war and if they make war on us they make war with the whole Hanseatic League!"

"We cannot let this continue Mikhail," Pyotr continued, "So I am sending you and Dmitri to go and negotiate with the Reds."

I sat on those words a while. The words, negotiate and the Reds didn't really go together. They would more likely execute me and Dmitri than come to a reasonable agreement.

I cautiously said, "But, sir—"

"I said, go and negotiate," Pyotr said hotly, "You and Dmitri leave in three hours. Dismissed."

I then, sternly stepped out from the office. Pyotr was putting me and Dmitri's lives on the line. The more obvious thing to do would be to set guard outposts throughout the northern and southern tunnels that led to the Reds but Pyotr felt that making outposts would pose as a counter-threat to the Reds. In truth it would not be a threat but an act of self- defense.

Three hours later, I met up with Dmitri and several other guards, who would accompany us. Dmitri and I exchanged grim expressions and boarded an rail car. We drove towards death and fate.


End file.
